Lack Of Sex And The Single Flu – The Lion Is Done In

The Lion, after many years of freedom from colds and flu, though not from other infirmities, including, according to some less-than-perceptive denizens of the cyberworld, mental difficulties, has at long last discovered why the single life is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Alone, dismal, and dripping in his rooms, no relief in sight, no kind hand cooling his fevered (101 degrees) brow, The Lion suffers the torments of the flued. Apparently a brilliant brain and a forgiving heart… okay, that last bit is pushing into unknown territory… are not proof against the virus.

So, in lieu of a friendly hand and comforting body, The Lion seeks solace in a chorus of ‘Awww, poor baby,’ or some similar comforting phrase that will give The Lion pause as he contemplates swallowing a lethal dose of Nyquil.

All together now…

Well, maybe one of those ladies of easy virtue from the strip joint down Cape… Chicken soup and a warm stripper – what more could a degrowled Lion ask for? (One supposes that one will hear from the feminist bunch or the strippers’ union. Consider that The Lion is actually quite respectful of the young women in that trade, but, enfeebled and undone by a virus, he seeks to inject some humor into his situation. And if you don’t like it, tough.) (Now that’s the old Lion!)

Post nasal drip and code in the node is not a thrill – especially if sinus pressure is thrown into the mix, or perhaps some middle ear interest. Then again, if lackanookie is that prime a problem – you’ll most likely recover.
When things go quite to shit, a hot toddy and mustard plaster are known to help. Just make sure it doesn’t get on your bare hide – it burns.